The Truce
by Mizu Iruka
Summary: "You and I have been fighting for the past three states and three schools . . . I want a truce." John and Sam agree to stop fighting for a while to give Dean a break. Pre-series. Two-parter.
1. Chapter 1

Sam noticed it during an argument.

It was the usual, "I want to play soccer," versus "you need to train," argument that they had gone through a thousand times. Normally, it would dissolve into biting words and Sam ending up grounded.

Dean, per usual, was the mediator. Alternating between getting in their father's face to distract him from Sam and barking out Sam's name, he literally would go right in between them.

During one of John's long harangues against Sam's skills as a hunter, Sam flicked a glance over to Dean and saw it. The utter weariness, the broken despair. Dean looked far older than his age of twenty. He looked like he was ready to give up.

Sam let himself lose the argument and did another fifty push-ups before bed.

As he lay in the bed next to Dean—another hunt, another small motel room—Sam decided, quietly, "enough."

The next morning, Sam approached his father with all the confidence and pride he had at his disposal. He noted the immediate tension that entered John's entire demeanor and repressed a sigh.

"Sir."

"Sam." John was waiting on him for the first move.

"I propose a truce."

John was thrown, betraying his confusion by a blink and slight twitch of his shoulders. "A what?"

Sam leaned forward and put on his most persuasive face. "A truce. You and I have been fighting for the past three states and three schools. Hunting, schoolwork, soccer, you name it. And I'm not saying that I agree with anything you've said, because I don't. But I want a truce."

John narrowed his eyes. "A truce. Where is this coming from?"

His father always claimed honesty was the best policy. Most of the time, it wasn't. This time, Sam would make an exception.

"Dean."

If possible, John's face furrowed into a deeper frown. "What about Dean?"

"He's the one caught between us, every single time. I think we should give him a break."

John considered that, and then looked suspiciously at Sam. "Is this a way to get a deal so that you can try soccer again?"

Sam sighed. "This is a truce, remember? I won't complain about training, you'll give me a little more leeway for schoolwork. Not even talking about soccer, here."

"And this stems from the goodwill you have towards your brother, does it?"

Sam gave his father a flat stare. "Out of all of us, I think he deserves a break."

John 'hmph'ed and mulled it over. Sam waited.

"Very well."

"Don't mention this to Dean," Sam asked.

"Sure."

* * *

"You're in a good mood," Dean commented. Sam jerked guiltily, and Dean smirked. His little brother was so easy.

"It's saturday tomorrow."

Dean's easiness slipped into suspiciousness, quick as lightning. "You hate weekends."

Sam was the picture of innocence as he smiled at Dean, and Dean had to focus in order to not echo it. Whoever had decided to give Sam dimples had not been thinking about older brothers having to lay down the law.

"I asked, and we can go to the movie after the hunt," Sam said.

Dean was a little thrown, but played it off with a smirk. "Dude, how do you know I don't have a date?"

"Cuz, you'll ditch her for this," Sam said smugly, "they're doing a re-run of the Indiana Jones movies in the theater. Not even you could get a girl to go to all of those."

Dean was caught between offended and excited. He decided on a middle-ground at impressed. "Knew I kept you around for something."

Dimples again. What was going on with Sam? For the past . . . well, it seemed like forever, Sam had been all teenage angst and hormones. "I thought you swore you were never going on another hunt, though," Dean said without thinking, and instantly cursed himself for bringing it up.

Instead of instantly falling into brooding mode, Sam shrugged, nonchalant. "Pros and cons. I have to hunt, but get to go to the movies."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

For a moment, Dean thought he saw a shadow pass across Sam's face. The next instant it was gone. "I'll be grumpy if you want," he teased.

Dean gave an exaggerated shudder. "No thank you."

"That's what I thought," Sam smiled—seriously, had a changeling come and taken Sam's place?—and strode over to the bed, where Dean was sitting against the headrest, sharpening his knife. "You need help?"

Dean looked at Sam in bemusement. "Sure, sparky. Except for the part where sharpening a knife is a one-man job."

Sam blushed, a new facet of his teenage existence that Dean found hilarious. "I'm just bored, sorry." He flopped down next to Dean, and it was really tempting to tease him for being a girl and that snuggling was off limits, but for the first time in months Dean felt like he could breathe, and that was . . . that was nice.

So he very manfully put up with Sam acting like a girl and did _not_ scoot closer to Sam. That was just because the weight distribution was throwing off his balance.

Nor did he feel kind of warm inside when Sam drifted off to sleep and ended up half in Dean's lap. That was just because Sam was a miniature furnace, and Dean was wearing his jacket. That was all.

Running a hand through Sam's hair . . . Dean couldn't really make an excuse for that one.

Not like anyone would know. Whatever.

* * *

"Sam, do you have the shotgun?"

"Yessir."

John slammed the trunk and noted Dean's wince with some amusement. He'd hand over the Impala to Dean later, but for now, they were all using it.

Sam was re-tying his boots, and John took the opportunity to observe his youngest. Sam had been serious about the deal. He hadn't complained once about the rigorous drill training or the lack of time to do homework.

It was refreshing, and John found himself annoyed. Why couldn't Sam be this agreeable all the time?

Sam had been right about Dean, though. John saw how much looser Dean seemed, as he pushed Sam into the snow and snickered at Sam's resultant yelp of indignation.

John allowed a smile to flicker about his lips and sealed the memory away for a time when he would want to strangle his youngest for being so pig-headed.

"Boys, let's get a move on."

Dean fell in next to John, Sam behind the two of them. "Dad, are you sure we should go in without knowing what it is?" Dean asked.

Funny. Normally it would be Sam asking that question.

"Sometimes we don't have a choice, son. I did all the research I could, but there was nothing. Just some reports of electricity fluctuation along with the missing persons, which is why we have the shotguns for spirits. I have all the back-up supplies in case of some other thing in here." John hefted his bag.

Dean cast a worried look back at Sam, who, John noted with frustration, was looking at the sky.

"It'll be fine, Dean," John reassured his eldest, indulging in a fond look as Dean's eyes weren't on him. Dean was already a hunter in his own right. John hadn't let him take on a hunt by himself, yet, but he might soon.

"Dad, it looks like it might snow," Sam spoke up.

"Let's make this quick, then," John said firmly, picking up his pace.

"Sammy, you good?" Dean checked.

John expected the now-common response of "it's Sam," but instead heard a quiet "yeah."

A strange snuffling sound silenced both of his boys, and John gestured for them to cover left and right. A few years ago he wouldn't've been able to have both sides, but Sam was old enough to take on some responsibility now.

They all crept forward, synced like they had never been before.

It was a bear. John relaxed and then gestured for them to retreat. Dean did automatically, but Sam . . .

"Christo," Sam hissed.

The bear roared, and stood on its hind legs. John shouted for Dean and raised his shotgun, wincing in the realization that it was filled with rock salt.

"Dean, rifle!" he shouted, tossing the bag to Dean. Dean could distract the bear while John performed a basic exorcism.

"Hey ugly! Over here!" Sam was throwing a snowball at a bear. A possessed bear. What was he thinking?

The bear turned from its advancing on Dean, who was out in the open, and turned to Sam.

That was why.

Sam dove out of the way of the bear's paw, and John began reciting the exorcism.

It was short, and by the time he was done, the bear was down.

"Boys?" John called.

To his left, Dean ran forward, around the bear's carcass to where Sam was in the snow.

John couldn't hear what he was saying, but judging from Dean's tone, it wasn't very complimentary.

"Sam, are you hurt?" John asked.

"No sir."

"Let's pack it up, then."

"Can we still go to the movie, sir?" Sam asked.

John was beginning to regret the truce. "Fine," he allowed. "Dean, drive safely."

"Yessir." The glower Dean had worn since Sam's stunt with the bear bled away, and his boys grinned at each other.

Yeah. This was good.

* * *

"We should do that again, sometime." Sam tried to keep his voice casual.

"Uh huh." Dean gave him an odd look. "You sure you haven't been possessed by the bear's demon? Last time you were this happy was . . ." Dean shut up, and Sam turned to look at him. He didn't have to look up anymore, which was nice.

"I'm sorry about that, Dean. I know you put up with a lot. I guess I just never thought about it, before."

"Oh sheesh, you don't have to completely make this a chick flick moment. If you want, we can sneak back in and watch one of those."

"Shut up." Sam pushed Dean amiably, ignoring the twinge in his side.

"We won't get ice cream if you push me again."

Sam straightened. "Ice cream?"

Dean grinned. "Well, we snuck into the movie theater without paying. Least I can do is pay for your ice cream. Make this a proper date."

Sam tried to hit him again.

"No ice cream for you," Dean sang, springing away to the car. Sam picked up his pace, sucking in his breath at the way his movement pulled at his side. He had checked it out on the drive back. Just shallow scratches on his side from the bear's claws, but still hurt like nobody's business.

No need to ruin Dean's night, though.

Sam slid into the Impala with a sigh of relief.

"What's your deal?"

Sam realized Dean was watching him, and kept his movements deliberate and casual. "Kinda glad it's just the two of us, y'know?"

Wrong words. Dean stiffened. "What is it this time?"

Sam backtracked quickly. "Nothing! But whenever it's all of us, something comes up, and we argue. I'm . . . I'm glad we don't. Don't argue." He felt his cheeks heat and turned to the window so Dean wouldn't see.

"Yeah, me too." Dean pushed in a tape and Sam was relieved that he didn't have to try and work his way out of the conversation.

It had been a good night.

* * *

"You two have a good time?"

Dean grinned at his dad, getting a mirrored expression in return. "Yessir. It's too bad you missed it."

His dad grinned. "I got some peace and quiet for once, I'm not complaining."

Dean involuntarily glanced at Sam, who was the cause for most of the lack of peace and quiet involved with their dad. Sam was busy getting ready for bed, though, so there was no reaction.

"Get some sleep, son."

Dean nodded, unable to keep the smile off of his face as he stripped off his jacket—not leather like Dad's, but still a hunter's jacket—and his boots.

Sam had stolen the bathroom, and Dean sighed. "Sammy, you done in there? I've told you before, dude, there's nothing you can do for that face, you're stuck with it."

There was a slight pause, and then Sam's expected reply came through. "Ha ha, shut up."

Dean sighed dramatically and thumped on the door. "Seriously. I need to pee."

The door was opened as he leaned on it, sending Dean into an undignified flail to regain his balance. Sam smirked slightly and brushed past Dean, who rolled his eyes.

"You roll on top of me in your sleep again, and I will cut you," Dean threatened as he got into the bed.

"Whatever, jerk."

"The jerk who bought you ice cream."

"The jerk who bought me chocolate."

"You're the freak who likes vanilla. Nobody likes vanilla, dude."

Their dad came into the room, going to his own bed. "Boys," he warned.

"Yessir," Dean said immediately. Sam huffed and poked him.

"You want it, Sammy?" Dean threatened.

"Want what?" Sam looked at him innocently.

Dean pounced, going straight for Sam's ribs, his most ticklish spot. Sam yelped and squirmed beneath him.

"Dean," their dad said, the tolerance getting close to annoyance.

Dean let Sam go and ruffled his too-long hair. "Don't forget who's boss, squirt."

Sam heaved in a shuddery breath and slowly sat up.

"What're you doing?"

"Forgot to brush my teeth," Sam said shortly. Dean frowned at the awkward way Sam got out of bed, but rolled over. When Sam came back to bed, Dean snuck an arm under his bony shoulders. Kid needed to build up some muscle.

"Good day," he mumbled.

He felt Sam's smile in his shoulder. "Yeah. 'Night, Dean."

"Don't jab me with those bony things you call elbows," Dean warned sleepily.

"Mmm."

Dean was smiling as he fell asleep.

* * *

**A/N:** TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Sam nervously considered John before standing.

"There's a study group, tomorrow. Can I go?" he blurted out.

John slowly sat back and considered Sam. "And skip training?" he asked.

"Just for the day. There's a big test coming up," Sam explained quickly.

"I don't think so."

Sam opened his mouth to argue and then snapped it shut, glancing back towards the bedroom where Dean was doing research. Defeated, he turned away. The truce wouldn't last that much longer, the way they were headed. At least it had gone a week.

"Boys, go get your running done," John called, loud enough for Dean to hear.

"C'mon, Sammy, let's go."

Sam pulled on his tennis shoes unwillingly. Normally, running was his favorite part of training—if he was to psychoanalyze himself, it would have to do with freedom or some such inner desire—but not with a side that was still painful and sore, even after five days.

As they escaped the motel room, Sam came up close to Dean. "Can we take it easy today? I'm tired."

"You wimping out on me?" Dean teased.

Sam, unwilling to play, nodded. It didn't take much to let his face look a bit miserable. He was in pain, after all.

"How 'bout we go to the creek?"

Sam nodded reluctantly. The creek was just that, a creek, but it was also where everyone hung out after school.

"I thought you didn't like hanging out with high schoolers anymore?" Sam asked.

"I can deal," Dean said easily. Which meant he was doing this for Sam, and Sam was really not in the mood.

A couple of kids were passing alcohol back and forth, and Sam nodded to them. They ignored him.

"Dad'll be able to tell we haven't run," he turned to Dean and said.

Dean smirked. "Not if I dunk you in the creek."

He was suddenly grabbed around the middle and thrown into the deepest part of the creek. Sam rose with a splutter and a pained gasp. Dean was grinning at him from the bank, and Sam scowled at him deliberately. Then he noticed his schoolmates snickering and flushed in embarrassment, stumbling to his feet.

Dean had noticed the high schoolers as well, and was glaring at them.

"C'mon, Sam." He didn't go near the others, but his hand twitched like he wanted to go for his gun.

The cold of the water contrasted sharply with the burning pain in Sam's side. There was a reason no one swam during the fall.

"Dude, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking," Dean apologized as soon as they were far enough away. "Let's get you home, huh?"

Sam shivered. "But . . ."

"Don't worry about dad. This one's on me, little brother." Dean slung an arm around Sam's shoulder, rubbing his chilled arm.

"I want hot chocolate," Sam demanded.

"You got it."

* * *

John watched his boys suspiciously as Dean waited on Sam, fetching him everything from blankets to his books. He didn't buy for one second that they had decided to jog by the creek—more likely they had decided to skip out on running altogether, thus the roughhousing resulting in Sam's dunking that Dean had blithely said was all his fault.

"Dean, did you finish your research?"

Dean jumped up from Sam's bedside. "Yessir."

"How far's the hunt from here?" John asked mildly, though he already knew himself. Needed to keep Dean thinking on his toes, though, for when he was hunting on his own.

"Bout a forty-five minute drive. Longer on the way back, 'cuz there's a bar," Dean returned smartly. John gave him a warning glance while suppressing a smile.

"Right. Think we can take care of it this weekend?" John had picked their location specifically because it was close to a bunch of cases. Not a supernatural hot spot, just bad luck. He had recently won a bunch of money in a very high stakes poker game, and that plus the fake credit cards would hold them over for some time. John hoped to get several decent hunts accomplished before having to grab a job again.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but Sam interrupted by sneezing violently and groaning afterwards.

"You have any brains left?" Dean called, distracted from the case. John frowned slightly.

"Shad'up."

Sam sounded congested, and John readjusted his plans.

"Getting sick, Sammy?" Dean had noticed as well.

Sam grumbled and burrowed under the covers.

"Looks like we'll be taking care of the hunt ourselves," John said.

Dean snapped his gaze onto John. "We're leaving Sam here by himself?"

John raised an eyebrow. "He'll call in sick tomorrow, we have food in the fridge. He'll be fine."

"I don't . . ." Dean bit his lip and glanced over his shoulder towards the bedroom.

"We're going, Dean," John said flatly. "This ghost has already gotten two people killed. No need for any more."

"Yessir," Dean mumbled and slid back into the bedroom. John stood clandestinely and moved closer to the door without making a sound.

"You hear that, Sammy?" Dean's voice was soft, but still carried.

"Uh huh." Sam sniffed loudly. "I'll be fine, Deab. Jus leabe me the remote."

"Okay, moron. But you better be okay when I get back."

"You too," Sam managed before sneezing again.

* * *

Sam shoved his face into the pillow and tried not to feel sorry for himself. It was hard, though, with the silent motel room (aside from the noisy couple on the other side of the wall) and how cold he was. Well, except for his side. That was burning.

Sam shifted uneasily, raising a shaky hand to rub at his forehead.

Something was wrong. He should call Dean.

"Don't be so useless."

Sam snapped his head around to stare at his mother.

"I'm sorry," he slurred.

"You think I died so you could be such a burden?"

Sam felt hot tears fall down his cheeks as he shook his head. "I'm sorry," he told his mother. At least, he was pretty sure it was her. He only had one picture of her, after all.

"I'm dead because of you."

The words were in his father's voice, even though it came from his mother's mouth, and Sam vaguely remembered John getting drunk last year and saying the same thing.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. He felt hot, now, all of him, especially his side. That wasn't good.

His mother approached, and Sam lost his train of thought, tracking her movements. She burst into flames and he flinched. Everything fractured and fell away into heat and fire.

* * *

John shifted uncomfortably in his mud-filled clothes and sighed. No stopping at the bar on the way back—the swamp monster had turned out to be a mud-slinging monkey. A supernatural monkey, but still. What kind of monkey was hanging out in the USA in a lake?

"You should call Sammy." Dean's fingers were tight on the wheel, and John glanced at him speculatively.

"He's probably sleeping."

Dean shifted, his mud-caked leaving smears on the seat. "I know."

"You need to stop coddling him, Dean," John said flatly. "He's old enough to take care of himself."

Dean's shoulders hunched up close to his ears. "Don't mean he should have to," he muttered.

"Doesn't," John corrected absently. "You two are far too wrapped up in each other. Sam cutting deals to let you have a break, you leaping to get him whatever he wants . . ."

"Cutting deals?" Dean asked sharply.

John pursed his lips at his own mess-up. That was alright, though. Wasn't like the pact would've lasted much longer. "Sam wanted a truce between the two of us so you could catch a break."

Dean's face, for once, was open and surprised. "So that's why you two have played nice," he said after a moment. "Shoulda known something was up."

John shrugged and felt the dried mud flake off of his shoulders. "It's worked for a little while, but I don't think it's gonna stick," he said honestly. It was far easier to be honest with Dean than Sam, and John winced at the thought.

"Mmm." Dean made a non-committal sound. Thankfully, they pulled into the motel soon after, and John breathed a sigh of relief

* * *

"Sammy?" Dean knew how much Sam hated to be called that, but sometimes he couldn't help himself. "Limited time offer on making fun of how dirty we got on this hunt. You are one lucky dog." He flicked on the bedroom light. And stopped.

Sam was twisting in mangled sheets, muttering brokenly and dazedly.

Dean cursed loudly and shouted for his dad, rushing forward to Sam.

"Hey, Sam. Sammy, I'm here, I'm so sorry we left, just look at me, okay?"

Sam was too far gone, and the part of Dean that was calm and focused during hunts was freaking out.

When their dad came in the room he swore just as violently as Dean had, coming over and laying his hand on Sam's forehead.

"Get him in the Impala, Dean, this looks bad."

Dean blanched. "Hospital bad?"

John was collecting his wallet and shrugging on a clean jacket. "He isn't sweating anymore, Dean. Hurry."

Dean swallowed convulsively. "C'mon, Sammy," he coaxed, maneuvering his sixteen-year old brother with some difficulty. Thankfully Sam's gangly physique meant he wasn't too heavy. "Y'know I'm gonna give you so much grief about making me carry you like this."

Sam cried out and thrashed as Dean curled his arm around Sam's ribs. Dean jerkily set him back on the bed and pulled up his shirt.

"Dad," he gasped. Three lines of red marked his failure as a brother. Three lines that were inflamed and sore-looking. Infected. His dad scowled and motioned Dean to bring him.

Without another word, Dean gathered Sam into his arms, ignoring Sam's pained whimper with some difficulty.

"Dude, what have I said about keeping secrets? It's stupid. This is me calling you stupid, you gonna stand for that?"

He scooted into the back of the Impala, Sam in his arms, panting.

"Drive, Dad," he commanded. Sam's skin was hot to the touch, and Dean stroked his forehead, ignoring the fact that his own hands were trembling.

"Don't give up on me, Sammy. Hang in there."

* * *

Sam shifted, the sheets feeling strange and too-clean.

"Sammy, you back with me?" Sam relaxed at Dean's voice.

"Mmm." Sam managed to hum. He tried to speak, but his voice was lost in the dryness of his throat.

"Open up." Ice was slid between his lips, and Sam took it with relief.

"How you feeling, kiddo?"

"Awful," Sam rasped.

"That's what you get for hiding an infection." Dean's voice was sharp, but Sam could still hear the concern lying underneath it.

He managed to crack an eye open. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Yeah, you should be." Dean looked tired and worried, but quirked his lips up as Sam met his gaze.

"Hunt?" Sam asked after a moment.

"A mud monkey. Literally. I'll tell you about it later, dude. You focus on getting better, okay?"

"Mmkay." Sam felt Dean's hand on his forehead and his eyes slid shut by their own volition.

"What's with the deal with Dad, huh?" Dean spoke up after a moment, when Sam still hadn't fallen asleep.

"You looked tired," Sam mumbled. "Wanted to give you a break."

"Tired of what?"

"Being in the middle."

"Yeah, well, don't worry about that, okay? I can take care of myself," Dean said softly.

"Doesn't mean you should have to take care of us, too." Sam struggled to stay awake. Somehow this conversation seemed important.

"You used to think I was Superman. Not anymore, huh?" Dean sounded oddly wistful.

"Superman had days off," Sam slurred. He cracked one eye open. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Sleep, Sammy."

"Jerk."

Sam was probably imagining it, but he thought he felt lips press briefly on his forehead. He did, however, hear the whispered pet name, and smiled as he drifted off.

* * *

**A/N:** Finis! Just a small fluff (with some angst, because you can't have pre-series without some implied angst) fic because a lot of the ones I have in the works are painful and John may or may not be the badguy. I apologize.

Anyway, off for fall break, so until sometime next week, once all of my essays are turned in. (don't you hate getting assignments over break? it's like, what's the point of a break? UGH).


End file.
